


the only thing I have to give (to make you smile, to win you with)

by infalliblefandoms



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Babysitting, Christmas, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infalliblefandoms/pseuds/infalliblefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And that is how Bahorel finds himself with a small child strapped to his chest, arms loaded with bags full of terrifying contraptions he hardly knows the uses for, with Feuilly beside him, Lila propped on his hip, the absolute picture of calm."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bahorel and Feuilly are best-bro babysitters.</p>
<p>Best-bro babysitters that possibly want to smooch each other into the next millennium.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Written for the 2014 Les Miserables Holiday Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the only thing I have to give (to make you smile, to win you with)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThriftShopYarn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThriftShopYarn/gifts).



 

Let me tell you a story, boys and girls. A Christmas tale for the ages. I hope you're all warm and tucked up in bed, with a fire crackling beneath the mantelpiece and snow falling gently outside. There's the sound of young children carolling down the street drifting through your window, and a plate of warm gingerbread cookies on the table beside you…

 

 

~*~

 

 

Now our story begins, as all the best ones do, with a single snowflake drifting down from the sky. It swirls through the chilled morning air, floats down, and down further, until it's caught amongst the flurries of the Parisian streets. Through the terraced houses it's gusted along, blown above the hooded and hatted heads of those on the street below. Lights flicker on beyond windows, the city waking up to a white winter dawn. The streets grow narrow, the houses more crooked, and there's smoke rising lazily from a chimney at the end of the street.

 

It is here our snowflake ends it's journey, coming to rest on the windowsill of a second story apartment in outer Montmartre, just as the pink haze of sunrise begins to appear above the rooftops. The snow continues to fall, blanketing every surface with fresh fallen powder. Through the window, there comes a warm, welcoming glow…

 

 

~*~

 

 

"So remember, bedtime is 8 o'clock for Lila, and just whenever you can swing it for Percy. Take whatever you can get with that one, he's a little restless."

 

"A little?" Floréal laughs, incredulous and teasing.

 

It's just gone 6:30am, and the apartment is chaos.

 

Floréal and Irma - two good friends of Grantaire's, and by extension, the rest of the group - are both packing for their respective business trips. Irma is off to new archaeological exhibit in Lyon, and Floréal is headed to a conference for Primary teachers. Problem is, both engagements happen to be over the same weekend. Which leaves their two children, 3 year old Lila and 8 month old Percy, motherless for 48 hours.

 

Which is where Feuilly and Bahorel come in.

 

They're considered the last unattached bachelors of the group. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta are busy with their first pregnancy, and just being generally sickening and in love (this takes up a lot of their time). Cosette is busy with her work in criminology, Marius is at the Sorbonne in the anthropology department and they have their hands very full with their four year old daughter. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are busy with Enjolras at the law firm, and are also busy having sex. With each other. All the time. Eponine spends an unhealthy amount of time being the best darn paralegal you ever saw. She also does a lot of babysitting, of her adult friends who are all well into their twenties. Jehan and Grantaire are endlessly busy with their fancy film-industry jobs, Jehan as a screenwriter and Grantaire as an animator. And Enjolras, predictably, is the busiest of them all - ceaselessly taking on pro-bono cases, working himself sick, and trying to pretend that he's not crushing on Grantaire. He's totally crushing on Grantaire.

 

So when Irma and Floréal are in need of babysitters, Bahorel and Feuilly are the obvious call.

 

And that is how Bahorel finds himself with a small child strapped to his chest, arms loaded with bags full of terrifying contraptions he hardly knows the uses for, with Feuilly beside him, Lila propped on his hip, the absolute picture of calm.

 

Well _shit_.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Bahorel and Feuilly, the heroes of our story, are the very best of friends. Whenever they share a bowl of cereal, they use the same spoon. Feuilly steals Bahorel's t-shirts to sleep in. They watch Downton Abbey together whilst giving each other foot massages. They fall asleep together in Feuilly's bed after watching too many Die Hard movies. Bahorel has a faded scar on his left cheek, from his cheekbone to corner of his mouth, and sometimes when Feuilly's very sleepy, he'll trace it with a finger and say, "you're alright, you know. You're alright."

 

They may never have realised what I'm sure you, dear reader, have already realised, if it weren't for the intervention of two small children.

 

 

~*~

 

 

~~Bahorel does not have much experience with kids.~~ Bahorel has no experience with kids. Bahorel needs to thank baby jesus and the pope and Sister Mary Francis for Feuilly.

 

Feuilly is the best thing that ever happened to this godforsaken earth.

 

Feuilly is amazing with children, they fecking love him.

 

Feuilly doesn't look at Bahorel like he's an incompetent waste of space when it turns out he's not so adept, just smiles encouragingly.

 

Feuilly is chill as fuck.

 

Feuilly is cooler than Jesus. 

 

Feuilly is cooler than Harry Potter.

 

Feuilly has the cutest little freckle right near the corner of his left eye, and it crinkles up when he lau- wait, _what?_

 

 

Bahorel is totally out of his depth. He has a very tiny human strapped into a harness on his chest, and it keeps making grabby hands and prodding him in the face. Feuilly is walking hand-in-hand with the other tiny human, a girl in a bright orange parka and miniature doc martens (actually, Bahorel kinda likes this one, she's ok). Her name's Delilah, he thinks. But Lila is much easier, and Bahorel doesn't want to be that lame babysitter that calls the kid by their full name. Bahorel is the cool babysitter, for sure.

 

Up ahead, the girl is laughing in delight as Feuilly whips up a daisy crown in about 0.9 seconds. The baby starts crying and flapping its arms. Bahorel stares down at it dumbly and pats it gently on the head a few times. No dice. 

 

Feuilly makes a daisy chain for him too. The kid immediately starts gurgling happily and clapping his chubby hands. 

 

Maybe Feuilly is the cool babysitter after all. Whatever.

 

 

~*~

 

 

They head into the city, because there's Christmas shopping to be done, and children to keep amused.

 

It's busy as all heck, and somehow (though it's seriously fucking baffling to Bahorel) the baby sleeps serenely for the entire metro ride in, apparently unfazed by the hundreds of people swarming around him. They're feeling brave, so they head for Hôtel de Ville. The little sprout doesn't even wake up once they're smack bang in the centre of the cavernous department store, with squalling children and loud teenagers as far as the eye can see.

 

Bahorel is pretty damn impressed.

 

While they're browsing, Feuilly spots a guitar on display. He grabs it, and starts strumming out the intro to 'Hey There Delilah' with an expectant grin in Lila's direction. She rounds on him, pokes a menacing finger right into his chest and says, "don't you _dare_ , Fuel-y."

 

Bahorel cackles all the way to book store.

 

They go straight for the philosophy section, looking for Enjolras-friendly gifts. Bahorel picks up Kant's 'Critique of Pure Reason' because the title sounds badass, and that's about the only criteria he has when it comes to picking books. He tends to avoid wordy non-fiction on principle these days, after his solid six year attempt at law school. Ah, those good old days.

 

Lila sees his choice and snorts in distaste, saying, "No, that one's stupid. Not that one," though she couldn't possibly have read it, because she can't, well, you know, _read_. Maybe she just took opposition to the cover, which is fair enough, because the cover is boring as all fuck.

 

Feuilly tries to hide his sniggering behind a cough. "You heard her, babe. Kant's stupid," he says, because he's actually an asshole and Bahorel would like to retract all previous statements of praise. And yes, they use stupid pet names in public. To screw with people, obviously. It's not like they're fucking _dating_.

 

He puts Kant back on the shelf and laughs, the entire gesture dripping with sarcasm. "Shut your mouth, _darling_." 

 

"Hey!" Lila yells. They both look down at her, standing with her hands on her hips, the bright orange of her coat almost painful on the eyes underneath the book store's fluorescents. "Be nice!"

 

Feuilly chuckles, already totally fond of the little tacker, because he's a hopeless sap. Bahorel's starting to warm to her a little, too. She's got spunk. He wonders if three is too young to start teaching taekwondo.

 

"You're s'posed to be _nice_ when you love someone! That's what Mama says." She's tapping her tiny boot-clad foot as though she's the figure of authority here.

 

She probably is. Meanwhile, they're both standing frozen, red in the face and gaping stupidly.

 

"We're not-"

 

"...he's not my-"

 

"I don't even _like_ him-"

 

"…like, ugh, Feuilly - he's _gross_!"

 

Completely unconcerned by their embarrassment, she reaches up to the highest shelf she can manage, picks out a book, and deposits it precisely into Feuilly's hands.

 

"This one," she says, decisively, before skipping away to the kid's section.

 

They both slowly look down at her selection. It's a beautiful collectors edition copy of The Rights of Man. It's an Enjolras gift to end all Enjolras gifts.

 

And wow, ok. That is just uncanny.

 

 

~*~

 

 

They make it home by 5 o'clock, naively assuming that Lila will have worn herself out after a big day shopping.

 

But no.

 

Oh, no.

 

Lila is bouncing off the walls.

 

Bahorel wonders how kids are even real.

 

 

Feuilly makes spaghetti, a dish guaranteed to be a winner with the kids, and even more so with Bahorel, who is a small child in the body of a 27 year old with a man bun.

 

Bahorel feeds the baby, revelling in the opportunity to do awesome aeroplane impressions with spoonfuls of food for someone other than Grantaire and Jehan when they're completely inebriated and believe it to be the funniest goddamn thing in the world.

 

After dinner, they decide to decorate the Christmas tree, and Lila turns into a bossy little energiser bunny.

 

" _No_! You're doing it wrong, Rolly! It's 'sposed to go the other way!"

 

Bahorel sighs heavily from where he's balancing, contorted around the back of the tree, attempting to hang fairy lights.

 

"Bae, tell her to stop yelling at me."

 

Feuilly rolls his eyes and throws a candy cane at him.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Courfeyrac, Jehan, Joly, Bossuet and Cosette turn up at 10 o'clock to stand on the doorstep and sing carols. Badly.

 

_Really_ fucking badly.

 

Lila adores it though, and starts inflating Courfeyrac's already bloated ego by telling him how pretty his hair is. Percy, who is refusing to sleep for even a minute, enjoys it too. In fact, the delighted little giggling sounds he makes are the only reason Bahorel doesn't lock the assholes out of the apartment for violating his eardrums.

 

 

~*~

 

 

When Percy has finally drifted off to sleep, Feuilly decides that two and half hours past bedtime is more than enough to fill their 'cool babysitter' quota for the rest of eternity. The wrestle Lila into bed and tuck her in, and just as Bahorel's about to turn out the light, she whispers, "I'll miss having you as my dads."

 

Feuilly's eyes get a little bit watery. Bahorel has to excuse himself to the bathroom, where he proceeds to get quite weepy. Then he remembers that he doesn't need to get emotional in the bathroom all alone, and flops down on Feuilly where he's sprawled on the couch. They get emotional together, and then fall asleep like that, completely exhausted.

 

When Bahorel wakes up to Percy crying at 3am, he spends most of the time settling him again staring at his sleeping best friend. Who looks very peaceful and handsome in the dim light of the living room, cast in the glow of the fairy lights. You know, in a completely objective way, not in an 'I-want-to-neck-my-best-mate-but-there's-a-small-child-snoring-in-my-arms-and-that'd-probably-be-awkward' kind of way. Fuck off.

 

 

~*~

 

 

They head over to Grantaire's place in the morning, feeling shattered. How do parents even survive?

 

Lila is full of energy and yapping away as usual, and Percy is happily munching on Bahorel's hoodie strings. Feuilly's taken to calling them Bubble and Squeak. Because he's cute like that.

 

Lila spends the car ride over babbling about how her Ma thinks butterfly kisses are the nicest kind, and _does Rolly give you butterfly kisses, Fuelly?_

 

Feuilly spends the rest of the drive blushing furiously and avoiding eye contact.

 

Bahorel distracts himself with a snapchat from Grantaire, which is literally just a picture of Enjolras' butt captioned, 'NOTICE ME SENPAI".

 

 

~*~

 

 

When they arrive at Grantaire's, for a 'casual yuletide gathering', there's no one there save Grantaire himself, sitting at the kitchen table (with fourteen places beautifully set for lunch) reading something on his laptop.

 

Well, Grantaire and… Enjolras? Who is emerging from Grantaire's room looking sleepy and ruffled and far, _far_ too pleased with himself.

 

He drapes himself across Grantaire's back and kisses his neck and it's only when Lila squeals a little bit and shields her face with her hands that they notice they have company.

 

Bahorel's pretty sure Enjolras must get whiplash with how fast he turns around. Grantaire falls off his chair.

 

Ah, young love.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Later, when everyone's less embarrassed and has some coffee, Lila asks why Enjolras was kissing Grantaire's neck, blinking up at them with blatant childlike curiosity. Enjolras blushes and mumbles something about wanting to show Grantaire how much he likes him (Grantaire looks stunned into silence), which prompts her to ask why Bahorel and Feuilly don't do it as well.

 

Grantaire rejoins reality upon hearing this, and proceeds to fall off his chair again, this time from laughing too hard.

 

 

~*~

 

 

By the time everyone else starts turning up, it's almost time for Lila and Percy to get picked up. Bahorel can't help but feel a little sad about this. What's he going to do with all this paternal instinct once they're gone? Channel it toward Courfeyrac? 

 

Actually, that's probably a good idea.

 

Floréal and Irma turn up just after lunch, and it's heartwarming just how excited the kids are to see them.

 

Irma declines Grantaire's invitation to join them for the afternoon, saying they've got some quality bonding time planned. Lila looks torn between unrestrained excitement, and being absolutely heartbroken that she has to leave Bahorel and Feuilly behind.

 

Feuilly boops her nose and tells her to "stay awesome". Bahorel pretends to put her in a headlock, and says, "I'll miss you, kid."

 

Floréal looks a little touched, but mostly amused.

 

"You'll probably see them again in a week, no need to turn on the waterworks."

 

Bahorel flips her off behind Lila's back.

 

Just before they head off (Percy jiggling his chubby fist in their direction - Bahorel assumes this is a gesture of farewell), Lila turns back and gives them both a stern once-over.

 

"Be good," she says, and then nods, like she's deciding that _yep, I done good._

 

Then she's gone, and Bahorel feels like maybe something huge has changed.

 

 

~*~

 

 

He realises just what that huge thing is when Enjolras, the diabolical bastard, trips Bahorel up so that instead of sitting down on the armchair like he was intending, he ends up half sprawled across Feuilly's legs on the couch. 

 

"Um, ow," is all Feuilly says, but it's enough to bring to their attention just how close their faces are, and oh. _Oh_. Yes, this definitely feels like the big climactic moment everything's been leading up to.

 

"Fuck you," Bahorel says, out of pure habit, before leaning in and kissing Feuilly hard on the mouth.

 

And yep, it's weird. It's so, so weird.

 

But then Feuilly reaches up to fist a hand in Bahorel's hair and in an instant it goes from weird best friend kissing, to completely fucking hot sexy-time kissing.

 

There's definitely a bunch of people wolf whistling, but Bahorel honestly doesn't give a damn.

 

 

~*~

 

 

The next time they see Lila, they're holding hands and probably looking completely smitten. She looks at them with a twinkle in her eye and says, "Much better."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about small children, I'm very sorry xoxox
> 
>  
> 
> title is from Joni Mitchell's 'Morning Morgantown'


End file.
